


Her Hand to Hold

by killiansbutt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killiansbutt/pseuds/killiansbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An argument with her ex, six blind dates, and a smashed car window are all the things Emma Swan needed to make her year better. Then she meets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Hand to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this originally for all the people on my tumblr who were having a bad day so I guess this is dedicated to all of them.

“Stop. Just stop,” she spat, backing up so far that her legs hit the coffee table, anger bubbling over. “You don’t get to come back after six years -- six _years!_ \-- and whisper sweet nothings and have me fall back in your arms! It doesn’t _work_ like that! You made your choose, Neal, you made it abundantly clear that you couldn’t stick around...” 

His face fell, but Neal stepped closer anyway as if his proximity would make the passing years better. “Emma-- _Emma_ , please! I--” 

She doesn’t give him another glance, sidestepping out of this bubble that he created and throwing open the door. “No, just get out.” 

“At least let me see--”

“No, _no_.” She made an effort not to scream the words, the rest of her seething inwardly that he had the gall to... to ask to see... When Emma herself had never even touched, never even held. 

“You can’t--”

She held her breath until the feeling passed, when she was sure that her next words wouldn’t be a shout. Leo was, after all, sleeping in the next room. 

Emma interrupted him, her face turned up in a sneer. “You chose to walk away from him, from us, without a word. You thought it was too much, you made your choice already! You don’t get to walk back in whenever it’s convenient for you. Now get out.” 

He closed his eyes, looking upward as if praying for something, a chance that he wouldn’t be getting from her. When he opened them again, he didn’t say anything, he only stared, starting at her heel clad feet to the narrowed, irritated eyes. 

He stared as if he recognized her. He stared as if he knew her. 

He blinked as if realizing the woman in front of him only bore a physical resemblance to the one he knew before. 

He nodded to himself and, without a word, left.  

Mary Margaret came to pick Leo up thirty minutes later and, upon finding her staring blankly at the wall, stayed the night.

...

...

She was dead wrong if she thought that was the last time she saw him. 

She saw him at the grocery store. She saw him at the library. She saw him at the park. She saw him at the pawnshop. She saw him... _everywhere_. 

He was staying in town, patching things up with his father, according to town gossip, Ruby Lucas, close friend of Mary Margaret.

Surprisingly, it hurt a little bit less each time that she did see him. It hurt less each that he nodded at her, but didn’t push to talk. It hurt a bit less when they did talk, about everything, from the way he abandoned her when she needed him to the son that neither got to see or touch. 

The hurt didn’t stop completely, but it was enough for her to finally let some of it go. 

It was enough that Ruby Lucas, town gossip and also town matchmaker in equal measure, decided that it was high time she moved on from scumbags and found herself somebody. Not quite in those terms, because Ruby was all for finding happiness in yourself, but she was also all for releasing some of the tension.

Mainly, Ruby bet her $50 that she would find somebody on one of these dates before 2016 and Emma wasn’t about to say no to free cash. 

Her first date was in September with Archie the psychiatrist, but Emma and Archie parted ways as friends and nothing more.

Her second date was again in September with a man named Ryan the dentist. She arrested him halfway through dinner when she realized that he was a bounty.

After much coaxing, she got back into it though with more enthusiasm than she expected to have. It was nearing the end of the year and her resolution was to finish off the ten dates that Ruby demanded of her before 2016. 

Her third date was in October with Belle the librarian, but neither of them were quite made for each other. As it turned out, after watching Belle and Ruby eye each other from across the diner, Emma traded places with the town matchmaker. 

Her fourth date was in October as well with Lily the liar, but that ended as soon as the two caught sight of each other and realized that they knew each other from unpleasant memories in the past. 

Her fifth date was in October with her co-worker, August. She didn’t even bother trying on this one because they weren’t anything more than friends and he did make a good halfway point.

“This time, I promise, you’ll love him,” Ruby said, leaning on the table at the diner, the setting for all her dates so far, smiling reassuringly. It was something of a joke to the usual customers, who seemed to be making bets themselves about whether this would succeed or not. 

“You said that about August.”

Ruby grinned. “To be fair, you do love him. You’re just not _in love_ with him.”

“I think you’re full of shit, if this fails your match making reputation goes down the drains,” Emma deadpanned. 

“I’m the expert here, Swan. Be quiet and wait for your date to get here, I told him six would be good.”

“Is he a criminal?” 

“He’s not a criminal, he’s not married, he’s not somebody from your past that I know of, he’s not the cute librarian I was trying to get a date with--”

“I knew there was something fishy about that date,” she muttered.

“And he’s not the town psychiatrist,” Ruby finished.

“I’m still not sure why you chose him.”

“I thought you guys would hit it off. He’s also a good ice breaker and I convinced him to give me ideas on who to suit you up with.”

“Are you telling me that two of my five dates have been hoaxes?” 

“...No.”

“You’re the one wasting two of your numbers. This is six, you’ve only got a few more months to find the love of my life, Ruby, the clock is ticking. Tick tock, tick tock,” she laughed.

Ruby swatted her, but walked away to handle a customer that walked in. While she was gone, Emma glanced at her watch, noting that it was little before six and that her sixth date would be there anytime.

Would be. 

Half an hour passed six, Ruby exchanged looks with her from across the room. At seven, the regulars at the diner noticed the lack of commentary after one such date and began to look at her too. Half hour passed seven, Ruby gave up working altogether and came to sit in the booth with her, biting on her lip nervously while Emma sipped her cocoa and tapped her fingers. 

“I don’t think he’s coming,” she said, heaving a giant sigh, her lips twisting in a pout. 

“Yeah, I figured that about forty-five minutes ago,” Emma said simply.

Ruby frowned. “Why’d you wait?”

“Figured I would milk the consolation drink for as long as I could before you decided to cut your losses and give up for the night.”  

“You aren’t... a little upset? I mean, this guy didn’t even tell you, he just said he would be here and then didn’t even have the courtesy to tell you that he wasn’t going to show up. You aren’t a little mad that he wasted your time?”

Emma thought about that. And thought about it. And came to the conclusion that she was, a little bit, bothered that he didn’t show up, but entirely _not_ surprised by this turn of events. This was, according to Ruby, the top of her list so far, her perfect choice and once more, Emma wasn’t good enough for the person to even show up. 

_Story of her life_ , she thought pessimistically. Not good enough for people to show up, not good enough for people to stick around.

Chagrined by the sudden shift in mood that her questions inspired, Ruby sighed. “He wasn’t worth it, I’ll need to start looking for people who will stick through to their commitments. At least this went better than with Ryan and Lily.”

Emma smiled. 

“And I’ll keep the drinks coming for as long as you want tonight.”

She didn’t comment, lost in turbulent thoughts, and only needed one refill in the next two hours, not nearly lost enough to miss the way Ruby looked at her, the way the other people did. 

Like the word unwanted was scrawled across her skin.

She finished her drink, standing up before Ruby could refill it, and waved good-bye with a self-deprecating smile. She didn’t even make it to the door before wailing started. It wasn’t human, not in the slightest, but the low, not quite ear piercing noise was a familiar sound throughout her teenage years.

It was the sound of a car alarm going off.

It was the sound of a very familiar car alarm going off.

Nobody in the diner looked around, it wasn’t the first time a car alarm went off. Storybrooke was home to quite a few stray cats after all. 

It was the first time her car alarm had gone off though. 

Scowl fixed possibly permanently on her face, she hurried out of the diner into the brisk cold, fishing out her keys as she jogged to the parking lot, jabbing the button until the horrific yet pathetic noise came to an abrupt stop. Her yellow bug stood out, the sole color in a line of beige and grey cars, and she knew without getting closer that there was something wrong.

After all, she didn’t leave the passenger seat door open. She pulled out her phone, shining a light on the glass scattered across the floor from her broken window. “Damn it,” she muttered, switching off the light and calling David, wondering if it would start raining to make the night worse. 

By the time David showed up, the sky didn’t show one sign of clouds. 

...

...

It was a bitch of a process to freeze all of her cards, but she wasn’t about to make the day easy for the asshole who decided to smash her window and steal her purse. 

Still, after freezing everything, she then debated the merits of getting another driver’s license or hope that David’s stellar detective skills would bring her wallet back before she had to make a drive somewhere farther than Storybrooke. Neither of which were appealing processes. Storybrooke was small, but it wasn’t that small. 

There was also the small, itty bitty fact that most of her work took place in Boston and while she was off for a few more days, she wasn’t eager to find out if she would have to spend more time than she preferred. 

Before she could consider calling Mary Margaret to vent, who would then try to convince her to just accept the position that David wanted her to take at the station, someone knocked gently on her door. 

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered, crossing the room and throwing the door open, exasperation and fondness playing in her voice. “Mary Margaret, if you brought groceries again, I’m-- Oh.” 

It wasn’t Mary Margaret.

She actually didn’t know who it was at all. She crossed her arms, well aware that her tank top and shorts left little to the imagination, as he looked her up and down with evident interest until she cleared her throat pointedly.

“Ah.. Are you Emma Swan then?” He asked, an accent to his voice that she guessed was British. 

“Depends on who is asking.” And, because her situational awareness wasn’t low for a woman who lived alone in a very breakable door, her eyes swiveled down to look him over. It was partially payback, partially because he was far more handsome than any man had a right to be, especially ones with a beard. 

She didn’t generally like guys with a beard, but it worked for him a little too well. 

The eyes didn’t help either, was it possible for someone to have a blue like that? It wasn’t the warm crystal blue of David, but deep and dark and-- 

He was holding her purse.

He was holding _her_ purse. 

She asked sharply, cutting him off mid-sentence, mildly surprised to have missed him beginning to talk at all. “Where did you get that?” 

He looked at the purse before holding it out to her. She snatched it away, not bothering with manners with someone who stole from her, even if they were polite enough to come back the next day. A newbie then, one who couldn’t stomach the way their conscience ate at them. 

Instead of looking insulted, he laughed. Her eyes snapped to his. “I am not amused.” 

“Ah, well, I am,” he flashed her what was supposed to be a charming smile. 

She arched a brow. “Do you want to come in while I call the police or do you want to make a run for it?” 

“What? No!” 

She was already reaching for her phone, grateful that she had the hindsight to stuff it into her bra when she went to answer the door, when he pulled a hand through his hair. 

“Alright, alright, please don’t.” The desperation in his voice appeased her, but not nearly enough when she thought of the fat chunk of money she would be putting into fixing her window. 

“Why should I? You broke the window to my car to steal five bucks from my wallet, congratulations asshole, now I’ve got to pay hundreds to fix my car. You’re not exactly getting sympathy for me,” she snapped. She tossed her purse into the room behind her, momentarily grateful that it landed on her couch rather than scatter across the floor, half-prepared to fight if need be.

Rather than look offended or frightened or angry, any of which were acceptable reactions to finding out that you’ve done wrong, he laughed. Actually laughed. The desperation fell from his face, open amusement there instead, and she was starting to get whiplash from the sudden change in his emotions. “You didn’t listen to a word I said after I asked who you were, did you?” 

Maybe. She might have been occupied with checking him out then startled to realize the handsome man knocking on her front door wasn’t part of a dream, but a crook who stole her purse. 

“I’ll start over then, love, don’t worry. I’m Killian Jones, my friend got arse over tea kettle drunk and decided to steal your purse last night so I’m here to return it with the hopes of appeasing you from pressing charges,” he said. Before she could reply with an adamant _hell no_ , having zero sympathy for somebody stealing for anything other than survival, he continued on, “But I guess that’s out of the question considering he broke your window. I don’t suppose I could pay for the damages to convince you otherwise?”

“Your friend broke into my car and you want to pay the damages?” She asked, disbelieving. 

“Indeed.”

“Why?”

“He... is a good friend and going through a rough time that he’s trying to solve with a series of bad decision. I can’t help him if he gets arrested for theft.” 

She hesitated, unexpected sympathy rising, then-- “Why do you want to help him?” 

He raised a brow. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“If my friend went on a drunk rampage and destroyed other people’s property, I’d yell at them,” she admitted slowly, trying not to imagine what she would do. It would just make her sympathetic and, damn it, she didn’t want to be sympathetic. 

"You would do the same, wouldn’t you?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“You do realize how much this is going to cost, right?” She didn’t even know how much it would cost, but it wasn’t exactly cheap to replace it.

“Well, not off the top of my head though, but money isn’t exactly an issue with me.” 

“Why?”

“Uh.” He scratched behind his ear, looking away from her. “It just isn’t.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to pay me in money that you’ve stolen.”

“What? No, thanks, my money was honestly earned. Well, honest enough, I’m not quite dashing enough to say I didn’t step on a few toes and say a few white lies to get where I am, but nothing terrible,” he said, his grin returning full force. “Just meet me at Granny’s tomorrow around three and tell me how much to write the check out for?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to believe that you’ll show up?” Her superpower said he was telling the truth, but she didn’t know how much of that was how much she needed to get laid and how much had to do with his truthfulness.

He put his hand on his chest like he was about to sing the pledge of allegiance. She fought the urge to laugh because that wasn’t particularly appropriate, even if he looked like an idiot. “I’m a man of my word and I promise to show up tomorrow at Granny’s at three sharp.”

After a long moment, during which his eyes didn’t waver from hers nor did his hand drop from his pledge, she nodded and he smiled, bright and cheerful, turning to leave.

“I have a gun, your name, what you look like, and a very good ability at finding people so if you’re lying to me, I will find you,” she threatened to his withdrawing back. He winked over his shoulder, but didn’t otherwise reply. 

You never could be too sure. 

...

...

He wasn’t a liar. 

She arrived at the diner at quarter till three, determined to get in lunch and get out before Ruby’s shift started, before her friend tried to convince her to go on another date. 

As if her ego could handle being ditched another time. 

He sat in a booth near the front, talking on his phone and gesturing wildly with his free hand, not seeing her yet. She edged closer, not quite caring if she was eavesdropping on a conversation that may or may not be private.

“Will you just relax? You’re not going to get arrested in the next five minutes unless you’re planning on doing something daft again.” He paused to listen to whatever the person on the other end said, rolling his eyes when they were finished. “I know what I’m doing. Maybe... No, I’m just not sure.... Stop shouting, you arse, I’m not stupid enough to fall in love with a stranger, stop expecting the worse of me.” 

He caught sight of her, muttered a quick good-bye, and hung up, getting to his feet and gesturing to the seat across from him in a gesture that went at odds with the arrogant grin on his face. He offered his hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. “Swan, so happy you could make it, please have a seat.” 

"Wow, a gentleman, you definitely don’t encourage that in others,” she quipped, hand falling away from him, ignoring the way her skin tingled.

“Is that a jab at my friend, love?”

“A little.” Mostly. Some of it was genuine surprise. “If I’m not pressing charges, I have the right to be bitter.” 

“I take it you don’t find bitterness ugly?” 

“Do you?”

“That’s impolite, I asked first,” he said lightly, eyes twinkling. What was wrong with him? They were here on business, not pleasure.

“I never said I was nice.” For that matter, what was wrong with her?

He frowned. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re agreeing not to press charges against someone having a rough time when you could make him pay for it anyway through court,” he replied, shrugging.

“That’s not nice, I’m saving myself from having to sit through two weeks of bullshit,” she pointed out. 

“Possibly. But I don’t think so, you seemed adamant about it until I mentioned the rough time of things.”

She scoffed even if it was true. “What are you, a mind reader?”

“You’re something of an open book to me.”

Her eyes darted away. A blonde haired woman named Tink bounced over to their table, her eyes alight with mischief. “Hi Killian, I was wondering where you were earlier. Hi Emma, you’re here early, Ruby isn’t even on right now. Are you trying to sneak a date in without her noticing?” 

Emma winced, Killian stared, and Tink smirked. “No, this isn’t a date, he’s just helping me with something.”

“Is that what we call it now?”

“Tink,” he warned, exasperated. “Just take our orders and go, you’re going to make my date awkward.” 

Emma jolted, staring.

Tink laughed, a sound like bells, and scribbled down their orders as they said them before bouncing away once more. As soon as she was gone, Emma turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “What the hell was that?”

“She wouldn’t have gone away unless we gave her something.”

“So saying this was a date was the way to do that?”

“Best I could think up off the top of my head.”

“I don’t know, maybe the truth?”

“Funny thing about that, I’m hoping that we don’t have to tell everybody and their mother that I’m specifically here to hand over a check to pay for your windshield,” he said like it was just a passing bit of conversation. The lights could have turned off and his bright smile would be enough to illuminate the room. “Surely my company isn’t that terrible?”

“Kind of rude to force your company on somebody without even asking, don’t you think?” she pointed out coldly. 

His smile fell, a look of thoughtfulness falling across his face. “You’re right, but you could leave anytime, love, I doubt the entirety of the police department could stop you.”

“What, the two fools we have? Please, I wouldn’t even need to be mad to do that.” 

“No, the Boston Police Department, but I suppose the Storybrooke police too.”

“Are you a police officer?” She asked suspiciously, squashing the familiar surge of annoyance that came up with police officers that she wasn’t familiar with, a habit she hadn’t yet kicked from years of hiding from them. 

“No, not me, but my brother was. A friend of mine is too.” Despite his attempt to tact on the latter bit of information like a distraction, Emma couldn’t help noticing the past tense of his brother.

She couldn’t understand losing family considering she never had one. Only the tension in his face kept her from apologizing, as if her words could offer him anything.

“I hope this isn’t the same friend that broke my window,” she said, changing the subject.

He smiled in reply. 

...

...

"I always thought seven was an unlucky number. Seven and thirteen being numbers that people superstitiously, myself included, but when have you ever done things traditionally?” Mary Margaret said fondly, preparing Leo’s diaper bag two days after her lunch with Killian Jones. Every other Sunday morning, she would take baby Leo for the day while Mary Margaret and David had the night to themselves for Date Day, the poor equivalent of a date night, but the best they could do with a one year old son demanding their attention.

Emma didn’t need to know the particular details of went on during Date Day. 

Mary Margaret didn’t need to know the particulars about her not-date with Killian either. 

“What are you on about?” She asked, pinching Leo’s cheek as he tried to wiggle out of her arms. The look he shot her was of the deepest disdain, but she only laughed, kissing his cheek instead.

“It looks like date number seven went much better than dates one through six.” 

She carefully avoided looking at her, feigning interest in cleaning the shimmer of gloss off Leo’s cheek from her kiss. “I don’t think two of those counted and one of them definitely didn’t considering he never showed up.”

“You showed up though, that’s all that counts. Not your fault that Walsh or whatever his name was decided to become a no show, it’s his loss,” she replied. “But I definitely think this was a date. You got to know each other, had dinner, and got kicked out of Granny’s because it was closing time you were talking to each other so long. He even gave you his phone number! The only thing he could have done better was walk you home.”

Emma stayed silent.

As an expert at reading people, Mary Margaret set the diaper bag down, biting back a grin. “Did he walk you home? What’s his name?” 

“...No.”

“That was so a date, Emma Swan. If he wanted to give you a check to pay for the damages, he could have done that in five minutes, gotten his food, and left as soon as it was socially acceptable. But he didn’t.”

“I don’t see why he would want to go on a date with someone he just met who made it painfully clear what she thought of his friends.”

“If I based my romantic interests off my distaste for someone’s friends, David and I would be married.” 

“How so?” There was no such universe that Emma could imagine Mary Margaret and David _not_ together. 

“A friend of him used to be in prison, did time in jail for assault, and when I first met him, he wasn’t the most charming man. Bit too arrogant, bit too brash, bit too... suggestive,” Mary Margaret explained. “I didn’t like him at all, but David was old friend’s with the family and, well, I liked David enough to handle it. He was better the second time we met, I’m assuming David talked to him, but I digress, you can’t judge a person based off their friends. Well, you can, that’s generally a good way to tell who a person is, but you should know them too. If it’s safe.”

“If it’s safe?” She repeated.

“Well, I imagine you would have to be selective about this and know when to get out when the situation calls for it. So, really, if you guys got along so well then, Emma, it doesn’t hurt to get to know him more. Worse case, you get another friend.” 

“Worse case, he and his friend break use this as a ploy to break into my apartment. Jokes on them though, my place has nothing nice for them to steal.” Despite being comfortably settled for a few years now, she never quite developed the sentimental side of things and her house was the bare bones essentials. 

The only thing there of value was her computer. 

The only thing there of value _to her_ were all the pictures of her, the only thing to show how far she had come. 

Sarcastically, she said, “Yeah, well, how am I supposed to reach out?”

“Most people start with hello. Maybe a thank you for lunch?”

“We paid for our own stuff.” After much demanding on her end, admittedly, considering he wanted to pay for both, but she wasn’t going to give Mary Margaret more ammunition, even as her brows pinched together.

She wasn’t going on a date with Killian Jones now or never. 

That didn’t stop Mary Margaret from giving her advice.

What did she expect for befriending an optimistic hopeless romantic?

Ten minutes later, she definitely didn’t type out a text message and delete it for being stupid. 

...

...

She and Neal hadn’t spoken to each other since Emma told him about their son. Not for a lack of trying on his end, but now that she had aired her grievances to the most humane of her ability, she saw no reason to continue talking with him. His presence brought up more bad memories than it did good ones. 

Emma had enough of those to last a life time, thank you very much.

His determination would be admirable if it wasn’t annoyingly directed at her. 

“We should talk,” he said while they were at the grocery store that same day, looking pained as he watched her tickle Leo, who bounced happily in the shopping cart. 

“We have nothing left to talk about,” she said easily, tossing her favorite sugary cereal into her cart.  

"Nothing at all?”

“Nope.” 

For lack of a better thing to say, he asked, “Who is this?”

Leo cocked his head and said proudly, “Lee-oh!” 

“Is he your...?”

“He’s not my son,” she said, far sharper than she intended, an old hurt branching to the surface. Those months of Mary Margaret’s pregnancy and the few months following Leo’s birth were among some of the hardest of her life. “Not that it would be any of your business if he was.”

He paused for a long moment. Too long for Emma to be comfortable, but not nearly enough for her to get farther than a few feet before he jogged to catch up to her, clearly abandoning his own attempts at shopping. Still, he said nothing. Then-- “I want to find him.” 

She stopped abruptly, jostling Leo who was reaching for one of the boxes of cereal in the cart and who gave her a dirty look, one that she ignored entirely, fixing Neal with a cold stare. “What?” 

“I... want to find him. I want to see my son.”

“You can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“He’s happy.” Please, be happy. Be with a family. Get the experience that Emma never got in the system.

“He would be happier with us,” he said stubbornly. “How do you even know if he’s happy? You’ve never even seen him.”

She snorted. “He’s better off than having me for a mother or you for a father.”

He winced at that and though she felt bad, she didn’t take the words back. Emma couldn’t be a mother and the man Neal used to be couldn’t be a father and that was just the way the world worked. “I’m trying to do better.”

“Continue to do so, but don’t drag him down.” 

“That’s not your choice to make. I want to find him still, Emma, he’s my son, I won’t abandon him.”

She bit her lip harshly. He didn’t want to abandon him, but he was perfectly alright with abandoning them. _Unwante_ d, _unwanted_ , _unwanted_... It scrawled across her skin, etching in her veins, and she turned away from him before he could see. 

“I want to find him too,” she said, walking away. 

She hoped he was happy, she hoped he was warm and happy and cared for, that he didn’t want for anything, that he didn’t cry more than any other child, that he didn’t need an escape. 

She hoped that he had everything that she didn’t. 

She hoped she had given him his best chance rather than the same painful years that she had been.

She hoped that the only thing she had ever done right in her life wasn’t a giant mistake.

...

...

Long after David had fetched Leo, around the time that she should have been going to bed, but instead was sitting on her couch, holding her computer open in her lap, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. 

She fished it out, Killian’s name flashing across the screen.

_My friend wants to apologize to you in person._

She raised her brow when it buzzed again. 

_I just checked the time and realize it was entirely later than I expected. I’m sorry if I’ve woken you._

She set her phone aside, deciding to worry about it tomorrow and looking back at the email she was composing, the one she had been staring at for the better part of two hours. The one that she couldn’t click send, the one that could change everything as soon as it was gone.

Could she do this?

Ignorance is bliss, she could continue living for the next years thinking that he was happy, thinking that he was loved, or she could find out for sure that he was. 

Or she could find out if he wasn’t.

She grabbed her phone, sending a reply back. **w _asn’t asleep, it’s okay. did he really want to or are you just twisting his arm?_** She deleted the smiley face she wanted to add with it, deciding that she wasn’t trying to flirt with him, but was in need of some much needed advice and he was the closest source.

_Well, there might have been a little arm twisting involved._

She also knew that he was honest. 

She prepared a reply.

An hour later, she sent the email.

...

...

It wasn’t a relationship, but it was a tentative friendship and that was good enough for Emma, she couldn’t handle romance on top of her suddenly busy schedule anyway. 

Still, it made her day over the next few weeks of forcibly trying to put her feet in the door and get some insight into her son that she only had to look at a phone to see a text message waiting. 

_Stupid, dork man_ , she would think fondly at the picture of hot cocoa that he would send her with that stupid, dorky grin. Or the time where she asked him to lend her hand with something and he would send her a shot of his prosthetic in the mail box on his way over. 

She most definitely didn’t like him.

She texted him first when she got the email nearly three months after their meeting, the one she had been waiting for, the one that would change her entire world forever. 

His name was Henry.

Her text was simple: _I found him._

...

...

Of all the people she _should_ be taking to meet her son for the first time, it isn’t Mary Margaret, her closest friend and it isn’t David, her big brother in all the ways that counted, and it wasn’t even Neal, her son’s actual father, it was him. 

She doesn’t know why.

Or maybe she does and she’s too stubborn to admit it, according to Mary Margaret when she told her the plans two days prior and Killian’s inclusion in them. Mary Margaret raised a brow, but nodded and said, “I hope this means I’ll get to know his name soon” and leaves it at that. 

Killian agreed to meet at her place, both of them squeezing into her bug and starting the drive to Boston where her son is staying with his foster mother. The first ten minutes are in silence, Emma’s fingers twitching on the wheel, before he decided to break it. “Are you going to let Neal know you found him?”

“I... eventually, yes, I can’t keep that from him. Especially if...” But she doesn’t finish because it’s one thing to admit that he might not be happy, but it’s another thing to say aloud exactly what she will do if that’s the case. She certainly wouldn’t leave him there. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering if you two will be trying to work things out for his sake,” he admitted, an uncomfortable edge to his voice. 

Emma snorted. It wasn’t sensitive or polite, but her first response nonetheless. His confused, offended hastened her into explaining. “Neal and I...” She trailed off, unsure of how to explain it. 

He paused, a war playing across his face, before he asked in a low voice, “Do you still love him?” 

“Yes,” she replied softly, watching the way his eyes flickered before he nodded, like his acceptance was more of a show than anything, an attempt to save face. She moved to explain again, “But I’m not the same person anymore, the one who loved him, and while a part of me always will, the rest of me knows that there’s too much hurt there.” 

“So...”

“So it means that Neal and I won’t be an us. Even if things change today.” She chewed on her lip, switching lanes and pulling up in front of a large, Victorian style home on the outskirts of Boston. Switching the engine off, she turned to face him. “Killian, I can’t deal with anything other than my son right now, can we..."

He grinned, the brightness returning to his eyes. “Love, I’m a patient man. Let’s go get you to your son, yeah?” 

She stared at him a moment longer before smiling shakily. “Yeah, let’s.” 

He got out of the car first, walking around the car at almost inhuman speeds to pull her door open for her. The first few times he had done that in the past, Emma had fought the urge to roll her eyes, but the gentleman trait is oddly endearing than she’s willing to admit today as she took his hand, letting him help her out of the car.

She doesn’t let go, finding comfort in the way he squeezed her fingers as she lead the way up the stone path, up the front steps, to the door. Then she lost her nerve, retreating back a step and bumping into him, heart roaring in her ears. 

She can’t do this. 

She can’t do this.

What if he’s happy? What if he wants to know his birth mother, but is utterly disappointed by her at the sight? What if he doesn’t even want to meet her?

What if he isn’t happy? What if he hates her for putting him through six years of suffering? What if he looks at her the same way people had been her entire life? _Unwanted, unwanted, unwanted_. 

This isn’t about you, she reminded herself sharply. This is about your son. This is about finding out whether he needs you. This is about doing what’s best for him, whether that’s with her or without her, and this is about him. 

“Breathe, Emma,” he whispered, squeezing her fingers again. She does, suddenly grateful that he’s the one with her.

Henry is the one who mattered, but the fact that somebody was there with her, somebody that cared about her, somebody that supported her, made it easier. She lifted her fist and knocked, so gently that she wasn’t sure the people inside would here. But they do, the door swung open only a second later, a frazzled woman behind the door, her blonde hair in disarray and a smudge of paint across her cheek.

“Hi there, you must be Emma, right?” At their nods, her grin stretched even wider. “I’m Ashley. Come in, he’s very excited to meet you.”

Emma nodded, not quite able to find the words while Ashley held the door open wide enough for them to step in, Killian following right behind her. It wasn’t an extravagant house by any means, but it was clearly lived in and happily too, little hooks to hang up their jackets and pictures decorating all the walls. 

She could imagine living here as a child, being happy for a short while.

Until they sent her away.

Ashley led them into a small sitting room, where a dark haired little boy sat on the couch, his leg bouncing nervously in a way that reminds her of Neal. He looked up at the sound of their approach, she faltered again, his face the perfect mixture of her and Neal. He had her chin and the angle of her eyes and the pink of her cheeks, but he had Neal’s hair and Neal’s eyes and he was...

He smiled.

It was like her world shrunk, reduced to just him and his smiling face and his excited eyes, to just her son and her. 

She realized now that if she had looked at him all those years ago, she might not have had the strength to give him his best chance. 

...

...

A few weeks later, she was making up the second bedroom in her apartment for him. 

...

...

“So Mary Margaret and David haven’t even met Killian yet?” Henry asked skeptically, nose wrinkling as Emma fixed the collar of his shirt. He had just gotten back from spending the afternoon with his father, in a public place where Emma could be assured that Neal wouldn’t do something stupid, and they were on their way to lunch with the Nolan’s, where Emma would finally introduce Killian finally, after nearly half a year of not-dating him in privacy.

Killian, who was her... friend.

Killian, who was definitely more than a friend.

Killian, who was important enough to know her son by name, who was important enough to meet her friends. 

Killian, who was patient about the fact that she couldn’t quite make it that next step, even while his affections for her continued undaunted. Even at the shocking reveal of her past, something she was required to explain when he tried to step back during the trial period of Neal and Henry meeting each other. Even at the shocking reveal of his past, of the time he spent in prison as well. 

He joked that their tale was going to be the grounds for his next book because what a way to meet someone. 

“Nope. So he’s going to meet them today.”

Henry spent a few seconds thinking about this before saying, his face wrinkling more. “Is this like meeting the parents?” 

“Pardon? Who told you that?” She asked suspiciously. 

“It was something I saw in a movie. The boyfriend meets the girlfriend’s family.”

“Oh. Well, no, this isn’t like this.”

“But isn’t Killian your boyfriend?”

“No...”

“Why?”

“Because we just aren’t.”

“Why?”

She frowned, struggling. "Because.... because we can’t....” 

He thought about this and she thought, hoped really, that that was the end of it. Instead, he turned to her, raised his brow, and asked as innocently as possible, “Why?”

“Henry,” she scolded.

He smiled at her, that same smile that he used when he first met her, the one that could defuse her at her worst, the one that could melt her in the middle of an ice storm. Damn him, he was already too smart for his own good. 

“Well, do you want him to be?”

“It’s not that simple.”

He didn’t seem to believe her, giving her that scrutinizing look that was entirely inappropriate for a boy who just turned seven in December, but thankfully, Killian arrived before he could carry on the subject and the three of them piled into Killian’s truck.

“Hi Killian!” 

“Hi lad, you excited?” He asked, starting up the truck and Emma could feel the weight of his stare on her.

“Yeah! Leo is supposed to be there this time!” 

Emma grinned, directing Killian down the correct street with a gesture, but reminded Henry all the same. “Remember that you’ve got to be careful with him, Henry, he’s been sick lately so he might not be up for playing as much.”

“That’s okay, we can watch movies,” Henry said, the eternal optimist. She was starting to think he was more Mary Margaret’s son than hers. 

Killian shared a look with her, as if he could understand the pain, and she remembered that he also had an optimistic friend. Then she realized that even after she looked away, he still glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I still can’t believe we’ve known each other this long and we’re just meeting our other friends,” she said, not allowing herself to blush under the attention.

“I guess we’ve been busy. It was more important to get you guys settled than it was to introduce me to your friends or to introduce you to my friends,” he said with a laugh, his hand finding hers. That was another development since finding Henry, the one of many after all, but one that she enjoyed as long as she didn’t read too much into it.

He would always find a reason to take her hand. Not long, just enough to squeeze comfortingly and let go, enough that Emma would feel warm afterwards. She didn’t comment on it and he didn’t either. As if words would break it. 

His eyes narrowed the longer they drove, as if something was occurring to him, and his hand tightened around hers. “Are you nervous?” She asked, frowning at him, running her thumb along his knuckles until he relaxed, shaking his head.

“No, just thinking about something, what did you say your friends names were again?”

“It’s Mary Margaret and her husband, David. Turn here, it’ll be the yellow house at the end, the one with the giant monstrosity of a tree in the front yard.”

“Ah,” he said, blinking. “Well, this is a small town.”

“What?”

His fingers twitched, a movement that told her he wanted to scratch behind his ear. “David wouldn’t happen to be the deputy, would he?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh. Do you remember when I said I had a friend on the police force?”

“Yes, what does-- Oh.” She blinked. “Are you saying that...?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. But... She tried to lighten the mood, grinning faintly. “Well at least we won’t have to do an awkward introduction?”

“You’re turning into an optimist,” he teased.

She thought of Henry, who was quickly becoming the most important person in her life; she thought of Mary Margaret and David, who remarked upon her good mood; she thought of Ruby, who wasn’t trying to fix her up on any dates and had given away her fifty dollars with a pout. 

She thought of him and the way he fit into her life, little piece by little piece. 

“Maybe,” she allowed as they pulled to a stop in front of the Nolan’s house. “I don’t think that’s so much a bad thing anymore.” She climbed out, opening the door for Henry and groaning at the state of his hair, fixing it quickly.

Killian climbed out and she barely caught his faint agreement. "I think so too.” 

He helped fix Henry’s bow tie, remarking upon how stylish it was, in a way that told Emma he was trying to settle his own nerves. But surely there wasn’t much to be nervous about anymore? He didn’t have to greet them and charm them, they already knew each other, they were already friends--

Oh, so that’s who Mary Margaret had been talking about, the friend of David’s that she hadn’t liked, the one that was arrogant, brash, and suggestive. All of which were the first traits that Killian displayed, she wondered if she was stupid to have not noticed it. 

Then again, she hadn’t known Killian then. She hadn’t known that they would be here. 

She wasn’t sure where here was. 

Still, she didn’t know why he would be worried, but now that she was thinking about it, she didn’t know how close Killian was to his previous friend. He didn’t know much of anything about her friends, just random stories that he had heard from her or from that brief first meeting with Ruby, and she didn’t know much about his.

She bit her lip, wondering how much of him she didn’t know, how much of her that he didn’t know. 

How could he not know that she was friends with one of his friends? She had pictures all over her apartment-- well, not anymore, having moved a lot of them to an album to make room for Henry’s stuff, but still. He had helped her build the little nook for Henry to hang up his coat and put away his school stuff. 

“Mom?” Henry asked, tugging on her hand. Killian watched her, scratching behind his ear, clearly more nervous now that he knew who he was meeting than he was when he didn’t. Why? Did they have a falling out? “Are we going inside?”

She blinked and came to a split second decision. “Just a minute, Henry, why don’t you go wait by the door? I gotta talk to Killian,” she said, gentle pushing him toward the door. He frowned at them, eyes swiveling between the two, before they lit up knowingly and he half-walked, half-skipped to the door while she fought the urge to slap her forehead. 

Of course, he thought she was--

But she wasn’t-- 

She would worry about that later.

“Are you okay?” She asked as soon as her kid was far enough away, facing him with her arms crossed. “Why are you so nervous? You know them, what’s... what’s _wrong_?” How verbose, how reassuring. Could she do _anything_ right?

“I...” He shuffled his feet and scratched his ear again. She swatted his hand, catching it as he dropped it in surprise and holding it tightly, trying to comfort him with just her hold, like he did for her. 

He stared at their entwined hands, bringing her hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss, seeming to draw strength from the touch while her own knees felt weak. 

“You can’t woo me into forgetting. You didn’t answer the question,” she accused.

His lips quirked, but not enough to reach his eyes and he sighed, not releasing her hand. “My brother, Liam, and I used to live here, we had family in the area and after our father left, we decided to stick around with an aunt of ours and her daughter, Tink.”

“You’re related to Tink?” She tried not to be hurt by the fact that he kept it to himself.

“Yes although I haven’t spoken to her in many years. Not since... not since Liam died. I... When Liam was old enough, he went to the police academy, wanted to work with the police in a big city, and I eventually followed, wanted to find my luck in the big city. You already know how that went,” he held up his prosthetic hand with a bitter laugh. 

She did, she knew that he fell in love with an older, married woman. She knew that she was murdered by her ex-husband. She knew that he went to prison for beating up the woman’s husband in retaliation. She knew that the woman’s ex-husband fought back, cut off his hand.  

She knew that his heart broke that day and left to mend the abandoned pieces by himself. Like she did. But where Emma’s broke from betrayal, his broke from death, and she was reminded, as she always was when she thought of this, that they were more alike than they weren’t. 

He continued. “Liam didn’t want to stay in the city. Milah’s husband was influential and he made my life hell for a while, but I couldn’t leave, it was the only place I remembered her, I couldn’t...” Killian stopped, shaking his head. “He moved here about three years ago, worked with Dave and Graham and he died a few months later. Accident, they said, a fire started in somebody’s house and he went to save them, the reckless arse, and he... he died. I couldn’t come here, I didn’t want to be in the place he died, I just... couldn’t. I tried to forget all of this place.”

“Why did you come here then?” She whispered, squeezing his hand so tight that he should have winced, but he didn’t, tightening his own. 

He swallowed, taking a moment to gather himself, before he continued. “Will. His wife left him a few months ago and he didn’t... take it well, the drinking and the idiotic stunts. I couldn’t lose anybody else so when he told me what he had done, I came here. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can...” 

He released her hand, guilt etched on her face, like she should have hated him. 

How could she? She loved him.

She... _loved_ him. 

This stupid, dorky man. Crushed by hurt and shaped by loss, same as her, who forced himself to face demons because his friend needed him. Because, she recalled their non-date in the diner and she remembered his words, because that’s what friends did-- that’s what _family_ did.

She grabbed him the lapels of his coat, tugging him to her, and kissed him. It was like when she first met Henry, the entire world seeming to shift to just the two of them, just her lips pressed against his and his shaky sigh. Just the way he held her face tenderly despite the roughness of their kiss, the way he drew back for air before coming back for more, like he didn’t think he would get enough. 

She drew back, breathing heavily, well aware that Henry was cheering from the porch, pressing her forehead to his. “You can do this, he’s not... Liam wouldn’t want you to shut out your family and Storybrooke is full of people who love you,” she said gently, well aware of the delicate balance they were standing on.

“I didn’t think I could let go of my first love, my Milah, until I met you. I didn’t think I could come here, to this place with more bad memories than worse, until I met you,” he admitted, holding her face in her hands, eyes closed. "I love you.”

She smiled and kissed him, gently and chaste, and said, “I love you, too.” Then she pulled back, holding out her hand for him, like he always did for her, and led him up the steps to a widely grinning Henry, knowing that whatever happened from here, at least he would have her hand to hold.

And she would have his. 

...

...

They got married four years later.

At her reception, she made sure to give Ruby $50 because she did meet the love of her life before 2016, even if she didn’t know about it at the time.

_the end_


End file.
